


Ad Astra Per Aspera

by Lotter



Category: Magi: Adventure of Sinbad (Anime), Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Adventure, Alcohol, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Developping Friendship, Dungeons & Djinns, F/M, Food, Friendship, Hearing_the_Rukh.com, Humor, Idiot that developped feelings for the bigger idiot, Idiot that get draggued around, M/M, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rukh - Freeform, Slavery, Smut, Tears because it's healthy, The Author has no self control, but later, like at the end of the first part, people trying their best
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-24 20:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22004329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lotter/pseuds/Lotter
Summary: There was a saying in Balbabb, one she wasn't particularly fond of:"Bumping into someone once was simply an accident, twice was a pattern and thrice, fate."Sania should've prayed harder to never bump into him the third time and now she was stuck with this purple idiot and his merry little company.Just her luck.
Relationships: Eight Generals & Original Character(s), Original Character/Original Character, Rashid Saluja/ Original Character, Sinbad (Magi)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 43





	1. Of miracles and deaths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to you all!
> 
> First, I have absolutely no self-control, I wanted to post it once I finished writing it entirely but... So here is my new fanfic!
> 
> This fanfic is a bit different from the others as it is divided into two big parts:
> 
> The first one, Koi no Yokan, will follow the timeline of Sinbad no Bouken. For this one, I have figured the whole plot out, I just need to, ya know, write it.
> 
> The second, Mamihlapinatapai, will follow the timeline of Magi. For this one, I have a general idea of what's going to happen so...
> 
> Anyway, first chapter is out!

_**Part one: Koi no Yokan** _

**[ko-ee no yo-kan] Japanese**

_(n.) The extraordinary sense upon first meeting someone, that you will one day fall in love._

* * *

_Chapter 1: Of miracles and deaths_

* * *

He moved through the shadows as he traveled to the center of the city, careful to stay out of sight of the watchmen who were posted all around the town. He pulled the collar of the tailcoat up, covering the lower half of his face and moved into the sunlight, taking a straight path to the center of the celebration.

His so distinctive mane proved to be a burden in this situation, but with the sun setting and the shadows growing, he would blend in smoothly. He just had to wait and stay on guard until then.

A group of children passed him, laughing and pushing each other. Faces usually covered in specks of dirt were cleaned and the hair, finely combed.

Celebratory events in Balbadd were, by no means, simple. The streets teemed with liveliness, the usually inky starry night was ablaze with lanterns, candles and big campfires projected difform shadows everywhere.

The streets of Balbadd were always buzzing with activities; there were street vendors who screamed at top of their lungs, deeply tanned fishermen with gleaming eyes, mischievous children who loved to run in the middle of the crowd, dancers were practicing their art, music, and laughter.

But tonight, it was multiplied by ten.

The sweet scents of fishes grilling and spices masked the usual smell of the streets. Children were playing in the fountain, spraying cold water on passersby and laughing about it. The clinking of glasses together meshed with the ambient happiness in a showcase of how truly prosperous Balbadd was.

A flash of fire.

He stopped, admiring the fire eaters from afar doing their usual routines, breathing in and spouting flames.

The return of the Mahujir tribe was just another excuse to sin away until the night ebbed away to dawn. Though, with them in town, the party only promised to be more exciting.

This nomad tribe was particularly well-liked among his citizens. Besides the history between the city and them, they were the best entertainers out there.

They usually brought the best storytellers who ensnared the mind and send it into another dimension, capable of dazing even the more down to earth man. They had a way with words that was beyond a simple man's capacity and that only those with years of practice and wisdom had.

Even he could never hope to reach their mastery.

But if something had to be mentioned about them, it was their dancers. Beyond their graceful movements, it was their incorporation of the fire in it that made them so exotics.

His eyes narrowed as he pushed through the crowd, slipping forward, hoping to get a good look. The music, a sweet symphony of drums, flutes, and harps was pulsating - a deep, bone-shaking thrum of beats that echoed along with his heart. The tone was still merry, not that sensually rhythmic melody that was particular to their dance of fire.

Crowd's movement.

Someone stumbled against him, he helped them back up. Their eyes met. The child gasped, eyes round and bulging from his head. He smiled, a small finger raising to his mouth, conveying his message. _Hush, child, don't say a word. I might get caught too._

A nod and a pat on the head.

In the middle of the crowd, with _his_ people, he felt the safest. But all it would take was one single moment of awareness for him to be discovered and this illusion of safety to shatter. All it would take was one person watching him, recognizing him and gasping his name in utter disbelief for it to spread like wildfire and alerted the guards.

He would really prefer it if the guards were not made aware of his presence yet. He liked roaming freely and he was with his citizens. It was mostly safe. His guards were just _worrywarts_.

The crowd kept pushing and he lost the child to the sea of bodies, unintendedly ending at the front of the crowd.

He had the best view.

A shift in the air, a change in the rhythm and the dance began.

Colorful bedlah stormed to the middle of the ring, each dancer's position around the colossal campfire held carefully still.

The music died down.

Their costumes were all similar, a fitted bra wrapped around the breast, a fitted hip belt hanging loosely around wide sinfully tanned hips and a full-length skirt covering long and fit legs. Yet, they were so different, a color for each dancer, some were richly decorated with beads that clinked together, crystals, coins or embroidery.

His own father once told him that the costume represented the personality and the dance, the soul.

A sway of hips, the start of a song.

He found himself wrapped within the melody, the tempo wild and thrumming through his veins, the notes grazing his skin with a powerful embrace. It soothed him, it gave him a moment to forget everything else, his duties and this royal bride's chase that his attendants were orchestrating.

His eyes were following amusedly their movements.

It was a devious trap, their dance. One that, caught unaware, you were bond to fell in.

Hands thrown in different directions caught the attention, drawing their prey slowly, carefully. Following the curves of slender or pudgy arms led to the next attraction, the second part of the trap.

It was the complex movement of the torso, the breast moving along, pushing against the fabrics and the arch of a strong back that hypnotized, blinding them to the danger.

Finally, it was the bellies -soft, toned or potbelly- and the hips, snaking and gyrating, that captivated further.

At that point, it was too late. The shackles were already put and the attention was solely on the hips, exacerbating heated minds and arousing.

But he, the 22nd King of Balbadd, knew better.

It wasn't the main attraction. It would only start when the fire dancers would take positions.

The drums' beats slowed, the flute ceased and four figures rose from the flames. Exclamations fussed from all sides. The other dancers fell to the floor in a flutter of clothes.

The flames licked their feet and legs. They jumped through it, each landing at one cardinal point.

The tempo picked up from slow and controlled to intense and wild.

The fire dancer on their side wasn't the curviest woman; while easy on the eye, she had a soft belly and not enough breast to be considered drop-dead gorgeous. Compared to the others, she was taller, almost reaching his nose.

And yet, he couldn't help but be enticed. She had charming eyes, steel grey or silver - depending on the light. A mysterious woman with her lower face hidden behind a cloth that bore the embroidery of a flame only designed to trap him further.

Her patterned loincloth revealed at times, almost teasingly, long and meaty legs glistening under the fire's light, daring him to discover what others wonder those legs could do.

Pink eyes met silver. Rashid swallowed, his throat felt strangely dry.

Dangling from her hands, she carried a pair of flaming scales, with thin cords running from her fingertips to the sides of the scales, that she held them in an almost puppeteer-like fashion. It drew his attention an instant, following their trajectories, but his eyes were immediately pulled back to her own.

The soft curve of her back greeted his eyes, the spine undulating and arching this way and that, revealing some of her tricks while keeping the rest secret. She shook her shoulders, arching her back more and more until she was looking upside down at him.

His breath _hitched_. He swore she was doing this on purpose, the sly seductress.

She turned around again.

_What other wonders can you do?_

His gaze held her own. He chuckled breathlessly, the eyes _really_ were the windows to the soul. The warmth from the fire was probably getting to him but he felt like the night was getting warmer and the sweat-slicked his shirt.

How could one move like she was moving? It was ethereal, unhuman, graceful beyond the imagination and unfair to every being that walked on this earth and could never hope to achieve such a feat.

He felt it in his heart, his blood, and his bones. The way she moved, the secrets she held in her eyes, he wanted to know it. He wanted to know everything about her. Her mystery would become their mystery.

He wanted her and everything she could offer.

He was wrapped in her melody. He would let her choose the tempo, matching her every move and instead of walking in her footsteps - desperately following her-, he would walk alongside her. Rashid prided himself in being a jack of all trades, and he wasn't a bad dancer himself, he surely could follow. They could be the best duet this country has ever seen, topping even the 15th King and his Mahujir's bride.

It was at this exact instance he knew, this woman would be _his Queen_.

The dance ended. Too soon.

They stared at each other, refusing to back down. He took one step forward then another and-

"My King!"

His stomach dropped. He jerked back as his guards flopped on him and he lost track of the woman. "Don't leave us behind, something could have happened!" Anma, his most trusted and loyal guard, nagged.

Of course, the crowd, hearing that, bowed down and surrounded them, throwing compliments and blessings at him, trying to touch him. The king loved his country and his country loved him back but right now, he couldn't care less. He needed to find _her_.

"I'm safe among my people," Rashid exclaimed with no second thought and slipped through them, losing his protectors again. The crowd closed on him, shielding him again.

He moved in a circle around the place. The dancer wasn't there; people who looked like her, yes, but not his dancer.

He turned around- Not here.

Did he lose her?

No.

 _No, no nonono._ He couldn't lose her already. Their time together was too short, a fleeting moment. He couldn't- not when he barely tasted it. He couldn't cherish that. He needed more!

Where could she have gone? Left? Right? Behind? Forward?

He needed to find her; if she slipped further, he might not be able to see her ever again.

The Mahujir tribe came and went with the wind, years could pass before he met her again. He needed to-

He needed to-.

He didn't want to-

And-

Blood pumping fiercely and turning on himself over and over again, he hoped to catch a glimpse of her. Faces moved and blurred but he couldn't find her. He sidestepped someone and eyed a familiar back, blood singing his elation.

That woman turned around, green eyes watching curiously his hand on her shoulder.

"Can I… help you?"

Beautiful as the woman was, it wasn't her. His heart sank.

He shook his head. "Sorry, I mistook you for someone else." And he was gone.

He bit his lip. He couldn't find her.

So that was it, that was how he lost this woman, this kindred spirit. He shouldn't feel this much disappointment, so why? Why did his heart hurt? Why did he feel like he lost a part of him?

He had felt something during the dance, a connection that went deeper than carnal desire. He felt it in his guts, the knot of unease he felt each time his advisor talk about marriage and brides eased.

He sighed, eyes cast downward.

A push and a whisper. _This way, she's here_. And when he turned around, there was no one.

He shouldn't trust the voice but this feverish hope pushed him forward, walking further down the alley, ending in an adjacent street and-

There she was, in the middle of a group of kids, smiling and simply being beautiful.

How did he know it was her? She wasn't wearing her mask anymore. He had no idea but something deep within him told him so. It was the same bubbly warm feeling when he knew he could hassle prices down. He just knew.

Without her cloth hiding her face, she looked different, younger and more childish. She had a round face and a cute nose and two moles, he realized surprised, one under her eyes and another on her cheek.

But the must was her wild smile as she listened to the young. Her eyes were half-lidded, warm and sparkling.

He would have kept his distance, content with observing her from afar, if she didn't rose her eyes, catching sight of him.

The startled look on her face just made her cuter, which was unfair for all the other women.

She surprisingly was the first to make a move, excusing herself and joining him, a shy smile adorning her lips.

"My king." She bowed, tripped and would have eaten the ground if it wasn't for Rashid.

Taking her hand, he stabilized her with a warm smile.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded, cheeks rosing.

"You danced beautifully tonight." He continued, eyes glued on her face, drinking in all her expressions. She was incredibly expressive, a brow or the corner of her lips always moving.

"Thank you, my King." She squeaked, cheeks reddening. How cute, she couldn't even hold his gaze anymore.

How different she was, all shy and bashful when she had been a seductress just a few minutes ago.

"You may call me Rashid. And you are…?"

She took a deep breath and held his gaze. "I'm Haybana of the Mahujar tribe."

Haybana, _shyness, and respect_. How fitting.

"There you are!"

Rashid jumped out of his skin. "My King, you're more slippery than an eel, stop disappear- Oh!" Anma stopped, blinking before a smirk bloomed on his face. "I'm sorry for interrupting."

He bowed, turning away. Not without wiggling his brows at Rashid though.

 _A woman,_ Anma thought, watching from within the shadows. _I should have expected that._

* * *

Birds chirped and sang, the wind whistled and the water lapped in the fountain. The flowers - red carnations, yellow daffodils, and blue violets- bowed down as the breeze rattled the palm tree’s leaves, The woman watched them as they swirled and twirled in the air until some fell on top of the fruit’s basket.

Sprawled on the couch in the middle of the garden, she was happily munching on a grape, feet hooked under her brother’s tight. She sighed contently. 

Today was a good day. 

The door closed with a powerful bang, shaking awake the sleepy guards who, upon seeing their master, kept to the shadows and chased the birds away. The siblings jumped on their feet, hands joined together in greeting.

Councilmember Ali Albas strode through the garden, cape billowing behind him as his blank face turned furious. His wrinkles deepened the more he looked at his children.

Shérine, his firstborn, was his pride and his greatest success. She was pretty enough, not too stupid, meek - just like a woman should be - and silent. A diamond in the pile of shit his other children were. 

And yet…

“A gypsy…” Ali growled, teeth bared and spit flying. “You lost to a _gypsy_.”

Shérine had the gall to open wide, innocent eyes, failing to understand. It made his blood boil. How could she not understand how much she failed him? He had looked like a fool in the middle of the Council when he - the King - had announced that he had found his wife. He rejected his daughter for a traveler of the desert, a sand walker, _a gypsy_. 

“Father, I don’t understand… What-”

He threw the basket of fruit at her, flipping the low table. It hit her across the face and the screech she made wasn’t satisfying enough. Her legs gave out from under her, eyes filling with fear and tears.

“Father-” One of his boys - who was he again? - tried to step in. He pushed him away. He had no business with him.

“Ta-” Shérine cried out but was quickly shut by her father’s hand.

“You DON’T understand? How can you be so dense? How could you fail me so?” He knelt, fingers digging in her cheeks. “The King will hand the country to a gypsy. You did not manage to seduce him. We, the Albas, will never be much more than a council family. Because. Of. You.”

He stepped back, sending her one last look before turning on his heels.

Sometimes, even the greatest achievement can be the worst failure. 

* * *

It started with a rumor, a simple observation and words carelessly thrown in the wind. 

The Queen was sick, she didn’t go outside as much as she used to and then-

Balbadd city was on fire. Earlier that day, a citizen saw the Queen in the northern market. 

It wasn’t that much of a rare occurrence. Since she has taken the position of Queen, Haybana has always taken the time to go out, watching and inquiring merchants about their goods. 

Kindness was a feature they started associating the Queen with. She _was_ kind, always smiling and ruffling children’s hair. She _was_ a patron of artists and merchants, and sometimes even the poor as she encouraged them with finding jobs. 

So seeing the Queen, while always intimidating, wasn’t rare. 

No. But this time, the Queen had a bump. 

_Right. On. The. Belly._

A royal child was on the way and everyone was excited about it.

* * *

Haybana was worried. 

These last few days, her dreams had been plagued with will-o-wisps, feather's crowns and broken clocks: omens of death. And even now, laid on the bed with her legs opened, she couldn't entirely focus on her task at hand.

Pained groans echoed in the room. She gripped the sheets and blinked the tears away as trickles of sweat ran down her neck. 

Haybana was raving, pain turning her mad and furious as her breathing grew more labored. 

The nerves of this man! _He_ put _her_ in this situation and he wasn't even there to see her through. What. An. Ass!

Biting back an insult, tears and sweats pearling on her skin, she clenched her eyes and gritted her teeth.

_Deep breath,_

The moment she sees him, she will break his hand. And that was a promise!

_Deep breath and-_

Why did she agree? Forcing her father to leave her behind for him was bad enough and now, that? No one told her it would be this bad! It felt like her bottom was torn apart!

_PUSH!_

This was so humiliating, opening her most sacred place for these women to see and she was pretty sure she just pooped a bit.

"My Queen, you're almost there! Just a bit more! Push. Push!"

She groaned some pained mumblings supposed to be insults. She was doing her best already, okay? She needed a break. Just a small break to catch her breath. Was it too much to ask?

She arched her back as pain shoot through her yet again. It felt like tendrils of lightning shooting inside of her, going up to her spine and right to her brain. She fell back on the bed as the contraction ended.

Haybana was tired. It felt like the only thing that kept her going was her will and even then, it was just shreds of it.

She was tired, in pain and slightly excited; she was going to meet the tiny human being Rashid and her made, that their love conceived. This child would be the paroxysm of their love, a being half-her half-him, a blank canvas that will be colored by only the best glow.

But a small almost nonexistent part of her worried. There was something else at work here. She could feel it deep in her marrow, it was like someone was behind her, breathing down her neck, feeding her strength and magoï.

She knew, in any other case, she would have faltered midway, tired and terrified of dying, of not giving birth to a healthy child and everything else that plagued her dreams. But beyond her motherly love for the soon to be born baby, something kept her going.

Something else. Something big. Something waiting for that birth to happen.

And Haybana had no other choice but to keep going.

Though, all the embarrassment, the pain, and sweat were forgotten soon enough.

The moment the midwife presented them the child and Rashid -he arrived somewhere in the middle of her screams and grunts- held it, rocking the squealing child slowly was the purest and most joyful moment in her life.

Haybana never thought she would see her husband losing composure, eager, trembling and peppering the child with kisses. It did wonder to her heart, seizing and luring it deeper into that sweet madness that was love.

"What…?"

Rashid finally brought the bloodied small being in her awaiting arms, kneeling at her bedside, peppering her forehead with kisses and declarations of love.

"It's a girl."

Together they admired the soft, round face and trembling mouth. There were only a few wisps of blond hair, blond hair just like her father.

Around them, maids and midwives gathered the dirty sheets and towels, throwing the bloody water before rearranging the room, returning to its former glory.

"She's beautiful, Haybana." He tenderly brushed sweaty locks away from her forehead, tears pricking his eyes. "You did amazingly well."

Their little girl calmed down, pressed against the fast-beating heart of her mother, nestling in her warmth and yawning.

Such a small creature. Frail and tiny and at the mercy of all in a world full of danger and magic.

And darkness.

There was darkness deeply rooted in this world, that stained everything: the heart, the soul and the rukh. Haybana knew it, she could hear it.

And gazing at the sleepy face of her daughter illuminated by the soft glow of the sunset, Haybana could only think of one thing: the baby had to be protected from this world.

* * *

This world had to be protected.

This world was too beautiful and full of wonders to be left dying. The pests infesting it, though, were quite tenacious and spread the plague alarmingly fast. It would be hard to get rid of them. And he was afraid that only a miracle could stop them now.

Humming softly to himself, he gazed outside, watching the sun setting over the rift, the sky a canvas of red, yellow, orange and dark blue.

But he couldn't lose hope now. He feared that the moment he did, the moment everyone on this planet lost hope, they all will be doomed. And he didn't live through nine lives to see that.

A sigh. But he couldn't do it. He needed someone else, someone strong and worthy. A miracle. A King vess-

Blue eyes framed with dark lashes widened. Whispered chirping of birds caught his attention. He tilted his head, focusing.

Something happened, something had changed. The rukh was… singing? Vibrating?... Thrumming. The rukh was thrumming with glee, dancing around his limbs, playing with his tress.

Yunan blinked, the eagerness of the rukh bubbling inside him. Someone had appeared? Someone important?

The magi was baffled. It wasn't a strong enough reaction for him to call that being a miracle, not enough for everyone to feel but enough for those really in tune with the rukh. The changes were more subtle, like the axis of their earth changed ever so slightly.

It was that fragrance, that small shift in the atmosphere that screamed 'change is on its way'.

Slowly, a smile inched its way on his lips. "Ahaha… That's interesting!"

Yunan couldn't wait for it.

* * *

"What should we name her?"

Haybana turned her impossibly bright silver eyes to him. "Sania for a girl and Altair for a boy." She reminded him gently, puffing and frowning when Rashid winced. "Those aren't bad names my love and you agreed to them."

"Of course, my Queen." He turned his attention back to the infant, a finger poking her chubby cheek until she opened small, bleary silver eyes, just like her mother.

"Welcome home, Sania Saluja, Crown Princess of Balbadd."

* * *

_Roughly a year later, in a desert._

* * *

He opened his eyes to the ceiling of his tent, the fabric swaying with the wind. He felt nauseous, guts twisting and wrenching so violently he almost puked, heart beating abnormally fast.

It was an hour or so past twilight, and the rays of bleak moonlight filtered hazily through the cracks in the thick woolen curtains of the tent; the other side of the bed was empty but still warm. He frowned, his wife slept with the sun, she shouldn't have left the nest.

Where did this foolish woman go again?

Arif sat on the edge, shivering in the cold and pulling on his garb, his movements weary and robotic. He stood up and groaned -a sharp, hollow sound of a pain only the old age brings. In the cold, his joints ached.

"Arif, are you up?" Asma asked from beyond the tent.

"Yes, habibata. What is it?"

"You come outside, something is happening."

Arif frowned, groaned and pestered but joined her nonetheless.

"I swear habibata, if it's because you believe again a star has appeared, there will be-" The rest of his sentence died in his throat.

The night was supposed to be devoid of stars, black as ink, with only a crescent-shaped moon to guide.

But...

The stars… The stars were present, shining brighter than ever, shooting stars filling the sky. Beautiful but highly impossible. And yet…

"Can you hear something?"

His mouth shut with a click. If he focuses enough perhaps he could…

Loud chirps of invisible birds drowned out every other noise, filling his mind, heart, and marrow with a pleasant warmth. Running wild, the rukh - the birds of life - danced merrily around him, squealing with renewed glee.

This had never happened before. How…? Why…?

"Arif?"

He was gaping, overwhelmed by the sheer loudness of the rukh.

"It's… a miracle."

And what a miracle...

After witnessing it, when the stars finally faded away, they stayed outside, basking in the calm together and watching the last embers of the fire cackling madly as it burnt the last twigs with sadistic glee, the roundness of Asma's body catching the last orange glows.

"Something is bothering you, my dear." His wife stated, busying herself with bringing the fire back to life.

"How can you tell?"

"You have that far away look and you're rubbing your hands." Kneeling, she waved the copper kettle. "Tea? It will warm your joints."

"Yes, please."

He had to give it to her, Asma may be foolish at a time but she had a kind heart and Arif never regretted marrying her. Well, perhaps at first, when all he could think about was Saida, his first love but not anymore.

The woman also didn't mind the silence, never asking for much just like their daughter.

The moon continued her travel across the sky while the fire died down and only when she was at her highest point, Arif broke the silence.

"I had a dream," he began, Asma humming encouragingly, still next to him. " About two birds fighting. One was stuck on the ground, enormous. His body was strangely shaped, with two bumps on the back and two tusks. He had blood-red eyes. Furious. On the other hand, there was a bird that could never come to rest, stuck flying for eternity. He was on fire, feathers red and gold, looking exactly like the body of an eagle."

He stopped, reliving in the silence enough to collect his thoughts.

"And what do you suppose it means?"

Arif sighed. "I don't know, only that one is a miracle and the other, an omen of death."

* * *

The dream took his full meaning only a few days later when someone interrupted their communal dinner. Red, gold, and white adorned his garb. An emissary of Balbadd.

"Chief Arif?" He nodded. "I am Abd'al-Ilah, a guard from Balbadd platoon. I am deeply sorry, Queen Haybana passed away."

The trail he held in his hand fell on the ground, red liquid spilling from his cup.

* * *

**_A miracle and a death._ **

* * *

_Fourteen years later- Balbadd city_

* * *

The Princess Sania of Balbadd, fifteen years old, stormed through the corridor, scowling at nothing particular and feeling particularly irritated.

The meeting didn't end as she had hoped it would. Vaughn, the slimy, sneaky attendant of her father had brought, once again, the topic of marriage when all she wanted was discussing plans with him. _Alone with him_ and hidden from all these heavy stares.

But he pushed his way in and her father let him. And all she managed to get out of this meeting was a mission, a headache, and a month worth of frustration.

Sania will be the one reaching _them_ out instead of her father to assess the situation and offer financial help in exchange for trade and discounts on their sculptures and frescos.

She rolled her shoulders, easing her muscles into a more relaxed position. Her bangles chimed as she massaged a particularly tensed spot in her neck.

It is said that the tinkle of a bangle in a house kept the negative at bay. Sometimes she was really tempted to just shake her arms in the face of some of her attendant, chasing them away with the tinkles.

She chuckled before sighing. that would be something to see.

She heard it too late, the characteristic sound of a fork scraping a plate.

"A proper lady does not sigh openly," Tassos tutted, appearing from behind a highly decorated pillar. "Swipe this ugly expression from your face, you're shaming us."

She barely stopped a roll of her eyes. If Vaughn wasn't criticizing her every move, it was Tassos, the plague and cholera of her life.

His big belly bounced with each step he took, rolling his shirt higher and higher until she could see his fat, redbelly button. His neck was so big, it fussed with his chin and he was sparkling with jewels and sweat.

"You should take examples of Prince Ahbmad, he knows how to act at least."

Sania almost snorted. Ahbmad? Proper? Now that was a good joke.

"I'm sorry, your Haughtiness," she curtsied. "I will be sure to act just like my brother. Now if you will excuse me, I have a sailing to prepare."

Tassos growled behind her, "This is exactly why our king should not have mingled with that gypsy. He ended with an unfitting princess."

Sania froze, nails sinking into her palms.

_Deep breath..._

**_How dare he?_ **

She turned around, fist painfully clenched.

But the fury that surged through her veins died down soon enough. At that moment, her courage escaped her. That folly outburst had been all but an impulse, one she hadn’t fully considered the consequences of and thus when all of these outcomes bubbled in her mind, she clammed up, cowering back into her comfort zone.

Sending a last glare, she stomped away, blood boiling. _This fat, horrible man…_

She passed through arched door and gold corridors without a second glance, too used to the finest things and too angry, servants swiftly getting out of her way.

Sania stopped, though, when a windy complaint grazed her ears. It was soft and so deeply scared. A punch in the gut. She never heard someone with that kind of inner voice before, so expressive and raw. It was directly connected to her feelings.

She blinked. She wasn't in the corridor anymore, facing a room from where she could hear screamings. Pig-like screaming and the tingling of coins.

_Are you kidding?..._

She sighed, face crumpling into one of long-suffering, before throwing the door opened, mask carefully back in place.

"Ahbmad!" She growled, scowling. "Enough!"

His face was purple with anger, puffing, and huffing and glaring at a maid on the floor. He turned to her, small black beads beaming with fury. If anything, Ahmad was the carbon copy of his mother: pudgy and small with an ego too big to fit in this size of body.

As the first prince and the heir to the throne, Ahbmad had been spoiled rotten by both of his parents and when people keep saying how wonderful you are all your life, your personality suffers in answer. 

He was insufferable.

He hadn't always been like that though. Sania remembered a time when he was following her like a lost kitten. He had been nice - sweet even -, offering her his drawings, cuddling against her when she read him bed stories. He had nice and pudgy cheeks and Sania had always a hand on one of them, pinching them red. They played a lot together.

He was an attention-seeker, thriving under the gaze of the other, under her gaze until it wasn't enough and he started to believe every nice word thrown at him.

He changed.

At her sight, the maid started to sob even louder, spluttering that she was sorry and didn't mean to wake him, the tray just slipped from her hands and please let her keep her work, her family was counting on her.

"Father wants to see you." Sania lied through gritted teeth.

Ahbmad almost snarled at her before turning toward the maid. "You better stay here! I'm not done with you."

He brushed past her, barely acknowledging her. A sad pang pierced her heart and for just a second, her mask crumbled again, revealing that melancholic glint and bitter smile.

Sometimes, Sania wondered what she did to get on the wrong end of his temper. To this day, she still had no idea when the change occurred. It hadn't been an overnight transformation. It had been sneaky, insidious even, and Sania realized it too late. Her little brother had left her grasp.

A hiccup.

Sania turned toward the maid who was still laid on the floor in a heap of skirts and heartfelt apologies.

"You're new here, uh?" Sania knelt, giving up her handkerchief.

The maid sniffed, "How do you know?" Blue eyes brimming with tears watched her curiously before remembering her manners and casting her eyes downward.

"Ahbmad is particularly known for his temper-tantrums and lashing out at the servants but it's Father that has a say regarding the staff." Sania smiled gently, "Ahbmad can threaten as much as he wants, he could never fire you. So clean your mess and go back to your duties, Ahbmad won't do anything."

They rose back together and turned to leave.

"Princess Sania. You really are what they say you are." The brown-haired girl smiled and left a puzzled Sania behind.

For a second, all she felt was dread. What did they say about her? Who were 'they'? Did they talk about how a horrible princess she was too?

But then, the maid seemed to mean it as a compliment, something she should be proud of…?

It didn't add up.

...

"Lying to your own brother? It's very unlike you."

She squeaked, hands flying to her chest, checking her heart was still here and still beating.

The sweet sound of a laugh.

"Naksh! Will you- Could you stop appearing behind me? One day, I swear I will put a bell on you."

His stormy blue eyes shone with mirth and his lips trembled, almost drawing a smile on his face before they fell in their usual flat line.

Naksh - or "that gorgeous attendant of the Princess" as rumors have it - was unfairly beautiful. Among them all, he was the prettiest: fair skin, freckles, brown hair, and a perfectly symmetrical face. And because of his function as her guard and one of her attendants, he was slender and fit: wide shoulders, small hips, and long legs.

At one point in her life, Sania had the biggest crush on him: he was nice, gave her all of his attention and good-looking.

What was she supposed to do?

She tried to confess - at the wee age of nine - that she hoped he would be her lover. He had laughed, patted her head and called her cute. And that was it. She couldn't face him for the rest of the day and after a goodnight of sleep, she forgot about it.

On the surface. Didn't mean she didn't groan about it in the middle of the night, trying to asphyxiate herself with her pillow.

"How did you know?" She asked, "About my brother?"

He snorted in his own way: his breath hitched as he looked vaguely entertained. "I met him as he was scourging your name."

She vaguely smiled, "He threw a fit, I had to get him away."

Naksh hummed and the rest of the walk to her room was spent in silence.

She liked him, this attendant of her, he always treated her well and was never shy to give praises or lectures. He had always been by her side.

He was her companion, her comrade… _Her friend_.

They stopped in front of her door. "Well, Princess Sania, I shall take my lea-."

"Could you arrange a party? I have been tasked with meeting the Parthevian Emperor to discuss opening a special trade road between our two countries."

"Parthevia, uh?" He nodded, "The men?"

"Less than twenty. Choose whoever seems the fittest for this travel." She paused, thinking. "Make us enter through Contastia Harbour, will you?"

"Understood. When should we leave?"

"Within the week, in three days if possible." Hopefully, she would be able to get back on time for Sadhmad's birthday.

"Very well, Princess. Should I fetch a maid for a bath?"

He knew her too well.

Sania smiled and nodded before bidding him goodnight.

And as her door closed, so did her eyes.

In the secret of her room, behind closed doors and curtains, her mask - that awful, useful mask, perfected over the years along with her lies - fell. She breathed. Each day, she wore this mask, smiled good naturally - not a real happy smile, it was for commoners - and each time it became harder to take it down.

To be a good Princess is to be able to always keep it on. She had to keep going. The citizens didn't need a carefree girl, a girl that can't protect them. They didn't need her emotions, sadness, and pain. They needed her to be strong, smart and fair. Smiles careful and calculated.

A pretty face with a silver tongue.

"Princess? You ask?" A maid asked from the threshold of the door.

Sania smiled, inclining her head toward the empty bathtub. "Could you fill the bathtub? I'm not in the mood for the royal bathroom."

"Of course!"

Sania took in a sharp breath. She heard something, heart wrenching and familiar. A cry for help that cut her deep and crawled under her skin. She needed-

-Who?

-Where?

Another.

Sania turned on herself, trying to locate it. It needed her to-

Follow. Find. Protect.

These three words sunk into her flesh, burning deep into her soul and taking over her mind. 

Follow. Find. Protect.

The first thing she registered was the pain, a peddle sunk into her foot. And in the next instance, there was almost too much to comprehend. Sounds, smells, feels, sight. They all just reported everything back at her at the same time. Noisy, mixed scent of shit, cheap perfume, and food, cold air hitting her skin.

It took her a bit longer to understand what was happening. 

The daily chatter finally got to her, grounding her. The sun was setting, the stores were closing and what the hell just happened? She had been in her room when she heard the voice. And then…

And then she was in a street in the red district - and in front of a whorehouse nonetheless. 

She raked her fingers through her hair, pushing them out of her face. Did she… Did she run? Her heart was beating far too strong and she was a bit out of breath.

How strange… It was the first time it happened. She never had felt that sense of urgency before. And the voice… It felt so nostalgic, a sweet and soft tinkle that twisted her heart. Did she know the person? Should she know them?

She shook her head as her toes sunk a bit into the ground.  
  
She eyed the entrance and the customers - men with leering eyes - and- 

Someone bumped into her. 

“Oh, I’m sor-” 

She saw in the way his brows kneaded that he knew her and might recognize her and she simply couldn’t afford that. A princess couldn’t be seen in such a place.

She turned around. 

Better get back to the palace or else someone might go after her.

* * *

Mellow and clear, the echo of the bell lasted seven seconds. 

“I start my worship ringing the bell praying that the divine may enter me and all demonic forces within and without depart.”

Seating crossed legs, Sania let the chiming sound resonated within her. While never being a believer, she couldn’t refute the harmony the bell brought her. It shook her deep, touching some parts she never thought it could. It calmed her mind and stopped her thoughts for just a few seconds.

She exhaled loudly.

_If there is someone up there, give me some lucks… Please?_

Joining her hands together, she opened her eyes. The ever watching, albeit a bit creepy, owl idol was staring back and written on the lotus as its feet: _Sri, good fortune, prosperity, and beauty_. Goosebumps rose on her skin as she felt herself starting to sweat.

She had always felt a bit unnerved by them, torn by the part that wanted to believe in gods and goddesses and the other that would feel sick if they did exist.

She knew it was time to go because she heard the slight movement of feet against stones and _that_ laugh but she stalled. 

Her heart felt heavy, a small tremor shook her hands and she played with her hair almost unconsciously. 

Going to Parthevia and maybe securing a possible trade… That was pretty important. Her father letting her do it just proved how much he trusted her judgment.

She had done it before with merchants and small countries but… It was Parthevia, an empire and a big one, strong enough to challenge _Reim_. 

It stressed her even more.

Someone cleared their throat and Sania deflated a bit.

It was time to go.

_Please make everything go smoothly._

Taking a dime from her pouch, she threw it in the fountain, clapped her hands and finally got up. 

Naksh was waiting for her, knelt at the bottom of the stairs. “Princess?”

“Let’s go.” She answered with more faith than she felt.

Hopefully, everything would be fine.


	2. That was easier than expected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sania is in Parthevia, absolutely hate it and meets that one boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay!  
> Chapter two is out! Thank you so much for the kudos and the comments. I see you and I love you for it.  
> This chapter doesn't move much. To be fair, I'm still presenting Sania and her beliefs. Hopefully, you will like it.

**_Chapter two: That was easier than expected._ **

* * *

The sun rose on simple stoned rooftops, paved streets, and lonesome trees. In the distance, a tower shot up toward the cloudless sky, glory radiating off its massive clock, while a temple steeple reminded everyone where it stood and where they should go pray. Further away, ships were battling their way inside the harbor, bringing with them iodized sea sprays. 

On Tuesday, Contastia Harbour held its market. Smelly, noisy, and colorful, the market was full of wonders, scammers and loose-tongued citizens. And for Sania, staying too long here was the best way to end up with a headache. 

There were times when her gift was not a gift, just a burden. 

Hearing people’s inner voice was all fine and dandy when it was one specific sound. Sometimes it was just noises - like Naksh’s sweet laugh -, sometimes she could make out words - the voice of the wind. 

It was fine until it wasn’t.

In the middle of the crowd, the voices were overbearing and overlapping. They were forcing their ways and filling her mind with unnecessary distractions. She had learned to ignore and block them but sometimes they could overpower her protective wall and shatter it. And Sania had to build it back up piece after piece.

The market was crowded but not as crowded as one would expect from the fourth harbor of Parthevia. Part of it would be because the harbor reopened its gates yesterday and so, merchants and citizens couldn’t make it as most needed the authorization to trade for the day. The other part would be, well, because of the war. 

The war took everything, territory, people and wealth all alike and what it didn’t, it broke. In her mind and from what little things her father shared with her, war never offered anything worthy. Territory? Sure, if you didn’t have the wealth to follow it meant nothing, just adding a poor part to your country, a burden, a liability. Wealth? Well, unless it was a quick win, the war would drain everything from both sides.

Her feet took her to the main street.

Sania was strolling through the market, sidestepping a cart here, wincing at the loud men screaming their overpriced items there and overall simply basking into the general atmosphere.

For her to do that, she had to forgo her usual clothes -a blue cone-shaped skirt that hung down from the waist to the toes, a midriff-baring blouse, and her usual jewelry- to adopt a more humble style -a dress and a shawl. 

The market was full of life, people trying their hands at haggling prices, merchants outdoing themselves to attract, rejoicing when they managed, frowning when they didn’t. Sometimes, on one stale, you could see anomalies: blues parrots, gems - but she doubted their authenticity - and even metal sculptures, all vestiges of Parthevia golden age. 

There were laughs and merriness, smiles and small gestures of affection. But there was a desperation in their eyes and nervousness in their moves that spoke volume. 

Parthevia was at war, the citizens were dying and no one was forgetting that.

Sania shook her head. _Concentrate!_

She needed to blend in, no citizen in their right mind would reveal anything to a stranger. Purchasing and questioning would have to happen at the same time; the gain of money helped greatly in losing lips. 

A stall caught her attention, colorful fabrics were hanging from the roof, displaying the design for everyone to admire. She approached, feeling them. It wasn’t silk and it felt rough. It wasn’t high quality. 

“Hello there! Can I help you?” The merchant suddenly appeared, an overly fake smile plastered on the face. “Quite the unique design, right? It’s hand-made ink and the fabric comes from our own sheep.” He kept rumbling, leaving her no room to ask her questions. “Though with your ton of skin perhaps another fabric would do a better job. What about this one?”

She shook her head. Green wasn’t her color. 

“No? Then, this one?” He presented her with red and gold fabric, pressing her to take it. He was no professional merchant. She was tempted to turn him down again, only to see him falter even more but it wouldn’t help her. “Yes, no?”

“How much?” She finally asked, a small sigh leaving her lips. 

“Ah! I knew you would come around! I never disappoint my client.”

 _A bit pretentious_. She thought, unconsciously slipping into a more focused state. A mistake, really. 

The sounds and voices that were kept in check in the corner of her mind came back full force. She faltered under the assault, her legs almost giving up under her and winced. That sort-of-gift-but-not-really sucked some times. 

“Ah, Miss? Are you alright?” 

She flicked a wrist at him dismissively, letting it drop listlessly. “Don’t worry about it, just a passing headache.”

_Deep breath and push it away. Ignore it._

She heard a crash and watched as two men screamed at each other, their carts lying on their sides and spilling their contents. 

“Ah… Quite lively, isn’t it?” Sania remarked and the merchant nodded.

“Far more than just a few days ago. Anyway, that would be ten silver coins.”

Sania choked. _Ten silvers coins?! That’s too much._

Copper, silver, and gold were the three different coins you could own in most countries - didn’t mean that there were some inveterate lands that refused them. Their loss, they simply didn’t understand the benefits of common money. One gold was twelve silvers and one silver was five coppers. The commoners usually owned few silvers and some coppers, so for _him_ to sell his goods for _more than four silvers,_ he either was a terrible merchant or desperate.

Or maybe both.

Yet, her hand reached down her pouch. If ten silvers were the price to pay for her answers, she may as well just give it. 

“Yeah, I’ve heard about that. How come the harbor reopened?” 

“Ever heard of Sinbad?” The merchant hunched over the stale as if to tell her a secret.

Sania cocked a brow as she inched closer. “Sinbad?”

“Yes, a boy who worked at the harbor. Well, _he_ conquered the dungeon and after that, he gave up most of his treasures. And so we had enough money to regain our ships and reopen…” 

Sania blinked. _Oh? Now, that’s interesting._ Without the emperor’s direct consent was heavily implied and that was probably the most important info she could have gathered. 

_So, the citizens are rebelling?_

"I see… Say, do you like living here ?" Internally, Sania winced. That was _not_ smooth.

She’d said something wrong, it was obvious. His lips pursed and squinted at her. His tell totally changed, from nice and exuberant - albeit fake - he went to suspicious and tense. 

He sent her an uneasy glance before smiling. "I loved Parthevia." 

Sania smiled in answer, let her golden coin fell and used the sudden influx of people to disappear from sight. That was close.

Further away, she spied the wide ledge of a fountain and claimed her place on it. 

People’s faces were tired and defeated. The elderly were not the only ones who walked hunched over. Watching them, Sania could feel some kind of lump forming in her throat. _And there goes my good mood._ Heavy was the weight of war, and heavier it was on the ones who couldn’t hide in golden palaces. 

Swiping sweat of her brows, she almost snorted. _Loved, uh? Desillusion must have stricken them hard if they finally realize Parthevia doesn’t love them._ Between them, there was no love anymore, just a perfect illusion. 

A little girl - skinny, smelly, and dirty - came to her with a basket full of red carnations. Sania bought her one, discreetly handing her a gold coin, before twisting her flower with her braid. 

She shook her hands, “Now, scatter.” and watched the little girl weave in the crowd. 

So, the people were unhappy. 

It wasn’t that unexpected, the war brought change and instability and citizens didn’t like that. Life was harder that way. To be fair, Sania would have been pretty bamboozled if they didn’t-

She heard a scream. 

Blinking, Sania frowned. She knew she shouldn’t follow the sound, enough people were heading that way and the situation would be dealt pretty fast, she _knew that_ but- She was born with a pretty unhealthy amount of morbid curiosity.

She bumped into someone, a boy, and barely dodged the whip that was his purple ponytail when he turned around. 

“Sorry,” Sania threw over her shoulder, squeezing her way through the people. 

In the middle of the crowd, Sania felt uneasy. She had never been that oppressed before, the people were too close, too many and _not hers_. Ordering herself to stay calm - it didn’t really work -, she trudged forward until she finally found a good spot.

Guards were the first people she noticed with their gridded tunic and helmet. The elderly and the child glued to his side were quite the oddities in the middle of them, looking frail and too thin.

Sania watched as one guard wrenched the little boy away, pushing him back into the crowd while spatting something about being too young to serve. 

“Poor kid…” A woman sighed before turning her eyes away. Other citizens were grumbling at the guards, booing and threatening them and Sania felt like she was going to die.

 _If a riot starts…_ She would die. Here, in the middle of the crowd, she was a sitting duck. She couldn’t move, couldn’t escape. Trapped.

Her heart beat loudly in her chest as cold sweats started to run down her back. A small tremor shook her body but she simply gritted her teeth harder. 

_It’s fine, you can deal with it. Just breath._

“Those damn guards, always stealing our coins.” Someone grumbled near her. 

She heard the voice and understood them but she was ashamed to say that it took her a bit of time to process them. 

“What? What do you mean? What’s happening?” Her question raised a few eyebrows but most were too preoccupied with the situation to really ponder on them.

“The old man can’t pay anymore, so they’re taking him as a compensation. Going to the labor work field and will probably kill himself here.” The man spat on the ground, glaring. 

“But what can we do?” Someone else pipped up. “They will massacre us.”

Sania exhaled shakily.

It was horrible. Horrible and unfair, and so painful to hear. It was gut-wrenching in a way that only someone who cares on some level could feel. Someone empathic. It made her heart ache. 

She heard it, them, the multiple voices that whispered in her ears. They cried softly, howling their pains, fears and neglects, longing for a past when the country cared about them, for this nightmare to end.

And among them, there was a voice, mellow and soft and sad. She could hear its words clearly. one word repeated over and over again. 

_Help._

"Wait!" Her voice rose above the ruckus of the crowd. She managed to squeeze her way through the barrier of guards and was making her way toward the boy. If she stopped now, all of her courage would escape her. A sword was pointed her way, halting her. "That's unfair. He's an old man and he probably can't work anymore. Sending him will kill him!"

Shit. _What the hell am I doing?_

That wasn't a part of the plan. That wasn’t a part of any plan. 

"It's the law, woman. Whoever can't pay the tax has to help the Empire in another way." The guard snared back, his sword nearing dangerously close to her throat. 

Sweat rolled down the side of her neck. Her breath came out in a huff. 

"So you want money." 

It dawned on her, suddenly and strongly, almost sweeping her off her feet like a tidal wave.

Money... It was about Money. She shouldn’t be surprised. It was always about Money and if it wasn't, it was its brother, War. One was always behind the other, lurking and waiting for the right moment to strike and one couldn’t be used without the other following.

Money and War, the plagues of mankind, and yet current themes through all ages of men. 

_But_ Money - unlike War - was necessary. Without it, the world would be lost to chaos. It brought order, a purpose, and a way to create ties between countries. Money was the language of the rich, of the powerful, and of the kings. You needed to know how to speak money if you dreamed of reaching the top. It was simple facts.

And what’s more, money wasn’t a trouble for her.

She swallowed.

It would draw attention to her, though, if she were to help. A commoner with money? With the way they squeezed them dry? Impossible. 

She bit her lips.

Her entertaining this idea was already stupid. _You’re bringing hope to the child, just stand down and admit defeat. It will be less painful for him._

She needed to back down now, she drew enough attention to her. She tried to intervene, it didn’t work. That was it. It should be enough to put her mind at ease, right? She couldn’t do anything anyway, it wasn’t _her_ country. She was a _guest_ and no one knew she was here. 

The guard rolled his lips, showing his teeth in an unfriendly manner while staring in her eyes. He was _daring_ her to speak up again. "Take him away."

The child screamed, high pitched and anguished, a cry for help that wretched her heart, tearing it apart.

"I'll pay for him." 

Did she just…?

 _Oh no..._

That wasn’t the plan. That was actually the opposite of it. The plan was simple: to gauge, to blend in and to leave _quietly_. So why did she still managed to mess up?

_You, stupid, impulsive idiot!_

The silence that followed was deafening. She, who didn't want attention, found herself in the middle of it and quite frankly, it was terrifying. Heart thundering in her chest, she thought everyone could hear it. 

It felt like no one was breathing, waiting for the guard's reaction.

"What?" 

That small tremor that shook her was steadily coming to an end. It felt like her rationality took over, numbing her fears and hyper-focusing her on the threat in front of her. 

Right now, it was a battle of wits and she knew, if push came to shove, she could save herself, a single sentence and they would be all bowing in front of her. However, explaining why she was here and not on her way to Csitephon would be awkward.

"I'll pay for him." She repeated, a little bit out of breath, like she had run for a few minutes.

The crowd broke into mad whispers.

The guard turned around, fully facing her. He was making a funny face, a mix between fury and disbelief, as his eyes raked over her figure. He must have found something amusing as he dropped his head back, shoulders trembling as he laughed. A deep, malicious and shoulders-trembling laugh that crawled on her skin, seized her heart and froze deep in her marrow. 

She unconsciously let her mask slipped on, expression rigid and unaffected.

She would have taken offense of that snarl if she wasn’t pitying him so much. _You poor idiot… I wonder what kind of face you would do if I were to reveal myself. Would you lose composure, bow down and beg for forgiveness? Would you stand your ground, refusing to accept reality?_

"Did you hear boys?" He turned around, facing his guards, arms wide open like a conqueror basking in his glory. “ _She_ wants to pay for him.”

Around her, the others started to laugh, eyes beaming with cruelty, mocking her and her slowly turning red face. 

Red of what? Shame? Humiliation? 

None of that. 

The warmth she was feeling came from something else. It was a fierce flame of defiance that ignited her guts, pumped her heart and colored her cheeks. One that craved retribution and will stop at nothing to get it.

They will learn, though, that angering a woman of her caliber wasn't the brightest idea.

Their fit of laughter came to an end quickly, turning into chokes and gasps as their faces paled and their eyes widened. 

The chef guard frowned, not understanding why his comrade suddenly stopped laughing. He turned around, eyes almost popping out of their sockets. 

Dangling from her fingers, shining and blinding by its beauty was a bracelet: a golden snake biting its own tail with ruby eyes. A fine piece of jewelry, forged by the best goldsmith they could find. One of her most expensive but not her most prized. 

"It should be enough, right?" Faced with their bafflement, she couldn’t help but tease, a smirk inching its way on her lips. 

"How..." He breathed out, dumbfounded. He blinked a few times, mouth opening and closing like a dumb fish. 

A guard ripped it from her hand, turning it this way and that, biting it and even raising it in front of the sun. "... It's real." He finally said. A real bracelet of gold, between their hands...

"Impossible. A-a girl like you should not..." He stuttered, face reddening. 

_It's the biter bit, uh?_

A powerful gust of wind whooshed past them, whispering sweetly in their ears, ' _And what do you know about girls like her?_ '. 

Strands of hair spilled from her shawl, dancing wildly in the wind like tiny threads of gold and white sleeves innocently raised, unveiling skin and hinting at other wonders of the same caliber. A wide smirk revealing pearly teeth that no commoner had split her lips, a mocking glint in her half hooded silver eyes. 

Mesmerizing and proud, standing tall under their gazes, Sania dominated them. They tried to mock her, to outsmart her in a game unaware she was a master at it.

“Release him, won’t you?” She ordered, arms crossed over her chest.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, mouth uncomfortably dry. Her eyes bore in his, molten silver flickering under the harsh light. 

In that instant, there was something about her that compelled him to bow down. It was in the way she walked, talked, or maybe it was that glint in her eyes.

"Release him." The order leaving his lips was a surprise. He barely realized he said that, too dumbfounded by the girl in front of him that had him whisper the next sentences. “Just who the hell are you…?” 

It caused an uproar among the citizens, cheers, and joyous screams, and perhaps a bit of sadistic glee in seeing the guards lose their composures. They had to take their eyes off her for only a second, trying to contain the crowd once again, but she was gone the very next. 

"Uh? Where is she?" He turned on himself, searching widely around him. Slowly, the realization that she played them downed on him but the old and the child had disappeared too. He turned red. "She dares disrespect the guard. I'll not let something like that slide. Find her! Go! Bring her back to me!"

They scattered. 

She waited another minute, gathering the small amount of courage that she still had, before leaving the safety of her cart. Dusting herself, she took off. 

She had to leave. She created enough ruckus here as it was.

As she turned a corner, a hand shoot out and threw her down a dark alley. It happened in clicks, a series of flashes, as though someone was guiding her through the whole ordeal instead of her living it out herself.

The next thing she knew, she was pinned against a wall.

"Wha-?" She choked, head spinning and ready to throw up, feeling dizzy beyond her mind or maybe it was due to the rancid smell that suddenly attacked her nose.

She could barely see his eyes. He was tripled her size. A burly man. Lips opened, revealing crooked and yellow teeth. Spots and acne scars.

The air felt as though it had been crushed from her lungs and clogged her throat. Her heart fluttered against her ribs, speeding up until it felt like it would burst.

His face was too _close, so close - go away_ , and his meaty fingers digging into her shoulders, pinning her in place.

“We saw what you did there,” he tilted his head, his voice grating her ears. “Quite the generous girl you are. You wouldn't mind sharing other goodies like you gave those assholes, don’t you?" 

Two other shadows loomed over them, terrifying dirty faces with creepy smiles.

"Ah. I'm afraid I gave all my stuff away." Voice shaking, she tried to smile good-naturedly, sweat dripping down her back. “Now, if you would let me go.” She tried to move only to be pushed harder on the wall.

It wasn't a good sight. It wasn’t a good sight at all. A three against one was never a good situation. She knew how to fight, yes but barely and she wasn't a street fighter. 

He tsked, shoving a knife under her throat. 

Shit. 

Heart beating loudly, she started to shake. Adrenaline was already kicking in. Her mind was screaming, begging her to move, to fight back, to snarl, to hit, to bruise, anything. 

_So, why can’t I move?_

"Now, good girls don't lie." His knife traced the curve of her throat, slowly dipping toward her breast. "And bad girls are punished." His face came closer, his breath fanning on her lips. " But don't worry, we'll check ourselves. A throughout inspection." He giggled, one hand sneaking its way up her leg. 

_No... Not that..._

Her eyes widened, throat drying. 

_Move. Scream._

Her body was frozen; her brain, a mush. She couldn't think straight, she couldn't move, she couldn’t… she couldn’t... 

She was helpless.

_Help… Naksh, please save me!_

His hand grazed the inner part of her tight and ended on her vulva, her most sacred part. She almost puked. 

Sania’s eyes watered, her hand gripped his wrist, clawing and hacking it with all her renewed vigor just to get it _away, away,awayawayawayawa_ -

Clear and cutting through her panic haze like a knife, a sound so abnormal in this situation reached her ears: the flutter of wings, a deep sultry sound and- 

"Stop !"

a boyish voice.

 _Who...?_

At the entrance of the alley, flooded with light, a man was standing tall, hands on his hips. No, not a man, a _boy_ clad in white and purple with purple hair swinging with the morning breeze. 

“Ah? It’s just a boy.” He growled under his breath. “Can’t ya see we’re busy? Wait for yar turn!”

“Release her.” The boy tried again. 

One of the buddies snorted, “Or what?”

The answer he got made Sania yelped. 

The stone crushed the man’s nose, drops of blood splattered her face, and his disgusting warmth disappeared completely. He was knocked out cold. Sania fell to her knees, vision blurring as the two other men hurled themselves at the kid.

What happened next wasn’t something she paid attention to. She should have, but she didn’t. The relief she felt was far too overwhelming, like a wave crashing, powerful and violent, and she was left trembling on the ground. 

She jumped back, startled by the hand that appeared in her view and barely stopped the snarl threatening to spill from her lips. “Don’t touch me!”

Gold met silver. 

“I”m sorry.” He rose his hands up in reddition, cautiously taking a step back before sitting on his heels. 

It was the boy.

She puffed a shaky sight, tears swelling and spilling again. 

“Are you… alright, miss?” 

Sania felt along with her fingers, touching her shoulders and her tights. Nothing. Nothing would bruise, nothing hurt. She was physically okay. Emotionally though...

“‘m fine.” Sania slurred, hurrying to her feet. She just needed to get out and to get back to her caravan just outside the city, to safety. 

"Whoa, there," he said quickly, suddenly at her side just as she swayed. "You just stay right there—"

"I'm fine, I rose too fast." Sania used the wall to stabilize her, she breathed through her nose, trying to reign in all of her emotion. She turned to him. “Thank you.”

“Anything for a lady.” A charming smile split his lips. He took her right hand into both of his, oh, so tenderly, “Especially one as lovely and as kind as you are.”

Slowly pulling her hand out of his, Sania reached the end of the alley. Her hand went to her neck, entertaining the thought of giving him one of her necklaces as a reward but ultimately deciding against, “Well, once again, thank you and uhh… good luck.” 

She turned her back, leaving him and the alley behind before blending in with the crowd, shawl back in place. He called her, asking her to wait. 

“Wait! I saw what you did-”

-but she had already left.

* * *

She was leaving this city and hopefully, the feeling of meaty fingers on her tight behind.

* * *

The sun was setting over the horizon, casting one last time its rays on the dark forest they stopped for the night in, before disappearing entirely. With the shadows ever-growing, the forest felt creepier, deformed. There was no sound, no wind. Just them.

She _froze_. 

She didn’t act, she didn’t think. She simply froze. 

Sania clutched a fist. So many things could have happened this morning, he could have raped her, he could have killed her, he could have kidnapped her. If this boy didn’t appear at the time he did then-

And-

And all she did was simply staring and let them have their way. She didn’t even scream. 

She had been _terrified_ , blood cold and muscles too tense.

Bile raised in her throat.

What a princess she was, unable to protect herself, relying on someone else’s kindness to protect her. And she was supposed to protect her country? 

Pathetic. 

Why did she freeze anyway? Why did her body betray her when all she wanted was pushing them away, fighting back? Was she that weak? Why-

“Where were you this morning?” 

Sania yelped and jumped away. A sweet laugh rang in her ear. “Naksh! Stop. You scared me!” 

He cocked a brow, waiting for her to answer. Sania giggled nervously. He was looking particularly angry, lips pinched and the vein of his forehead pulsing. A true ticking bomb.

“I was here, in my bed. Why?”

Naksh stared, face blank and particularly unimpressed, and Sania stared back, willing him to break eye contact. She turned away first. 

“In the city…?”

“Princess, you’re not supposed to answer my question with another question.” Sania rose a finger to defend herself but he continued. “It’s dangerous and highly irresponsible. We’re in the middle of a country at war. What if they mistook you for a spy? They could have executed you, hurt you or worse. You’re the precious Crown Princess of Balbadd, do you realize how important you are?”

“Of cour-” 

“You don’t act like it. You’re acting just like your father the King, always wandering without your guards. One day, something will happen and we won’t be able to protect you.” Sania almost winced at that. _Already happened_. But that was a secret she was ready to take to the grave. “We are here for a reason princess, to protect you.”

“I know! And I understand your point but if I take guards with me, how am I supposed to stay inconspicuous? I needed to know what Balbadd was going to invest in and the best way is by listening to the people.”

Naksh sighed. He was winding down. “Please, next time, at least tell me. You don’t know how terrified I was when I didn’t found you in your tent.” 

Utterly chastised, Sania slumped dejectedly. “Sorry…” 

He finally uncrossed his arms and put his hand on his hips. Sania inwardly relaxed. Naksh was forgiving her. He pursed his lips, watching her intently. “Nothing happened this morning, right?”

That was the question she dreaded. The problem with knowing someone for a long time was that they knew you and all your tells. And beyond knowing for years, Naksh was observant. 

“Nothing!” She answered a bit too fast before a bitter smile took over. “But I’ve discovered something. The people are drained dry and suffered every day. The war is taking its toll, and everyone is tired. If we follow this train of thought… A rebellion is coming.”

“Doubtful,” pipped Naksh up, seating on a pillow “You’re thinking with the mindset of someone born in an old and at peace country. Parthevia’s an Empire.”

“So?”

“Parthevia is a young country which has only known _war_. It doesn’t know how to respond to a rebellion but through _violence_. People live in fear. And do you know how fear works? It froze you deeply, rooting you in place and numbed your mind. The only thing that you can do is to agree, and that, even if you loathe it.”

He talked about it with confidence that spoke about experiences. Did he ever fear to the point of freezing?

Sania masked a wince with a cough. It was hitting a bit too close, here. Yet, the memory of the purple boy that willingly threw himself at danger came back to her mind. _He chose to fight._

“People don’t react the same way to fear,” She reminded softly, mulling on her words. “Some decide to fight and… They might just be the sparks that ignite this revolution. If they see a way to escape, they will.” 

He leaned his head on his palm, adopting a more casual position as he watched her pacing. “Not necessarily, the citizens have no training whatsoever in the art of combat. They’ll be slaughtered and they know it. Though… I don’t understand. Why are you still trying to convince yourself when you’ve already made your decision?” 

Sania cringed a bit. “I don’t know if it’s the right decision.” Naksh tilted his head, encouraging her to continue. “But I firmly believe that a country who does not respect his people will not live long, so with that in mind, I will call off the potential deal. Balbadd will be better off if not affiliated to Parthevia.”

Naksh sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I had a feeling you would say so. You are Princess Sania Saluja, the voice of the people after all. You are known for that speech and you care about your people. But, Princess, you need to be careful. These beliefs are affecting your decisions and it may hurt Balbadd in the long term.”

Sania pursed her lips but said no more. She kept her pacing until she finally reached a decision. 

“Maybe you’re right but…” That little voice crying for help was ringing in her ears, “I’ve made my choice. I will call off this deal.” 

Naksh nodded once and went out, calling for the first few night guards to take their posts.

* * *

It felt wrong to say that. She was condemning them by not providing support but she was the Crown Princess of _Balbadd_. 

Her citizens would always come first.

* * *

The wine tasted bitter and the food might have been spoiled for all it mattered. It tasted like ash. Or maybe she was simply so disgust by the abundance that only the privileged lived in while knowing that beyond the walls of Csitephon, thousands of people were suffering, famished and dehydrated.

The Emperor had thrown a welcoming party for her arrival, only looking slightly surprised at seeing her instead of her father.

She should be used to it. She was born into it, it shouldn’t disgust her. But the older she grew and the more she realized how wrong this world was. 

She smiled at an aristocrat, the corners of her lips barely moving and eyes cold. He bowed to her, asking for a dance she had no heart to give.

During the two days it took them to reach the capital, they passed through two smalls towns and-

She may as well be haunted by their tiny bodies, only made of skin and bones, and their lifeless, black eyes for the rest of her life. It upset her in a way that only the shattering of something she thought impossible to shake, her view on the world and its inhabitant, could.

She was losing her faith in this world. 

The sound of a snake hissing so close to her ears made her stop. She could feel its slimy skin slithering over her skin and going for her throat to sank its poisonous teeth into. 

“Princess Sania,” She jumped around, eyes the triple of their size before smoothly putting her mask back.

The man was tall, slicked green hair and face carefully blank. He looked out of place in an armor suited more for the battlefield than inside a castle. 

“My apologies,” she smiled, lying smoothly through her teeth. “You have merely startled me, Sir…?”

“I’m General Barbarossa of the Dragul family, please forgive me for startling you, Princess.” He bowed to her, placing a cold kiss on her hand. Thousand of spiders crawled under her skin, shivers ran up her spine and Sania stopped her hand for recoiling. 

This man felt unpleasant for some reason, “You’re forgiven, General. I should have paid more attention to my surroundings too.” She laughed it off.

“It is a surprise to see you here, not that anyone complains. Seeing a beautiful princess is always a pleasure. Pardon me if I’m overstepping but did something happen in Balbadd that kept the king away?” He smiled with his eyes, tilting his head.

Sania smiled shily and cast her eyes downward. Was he probing for information? The blush came naturally. “An urgent matter indeed.” She giggled, “But my Father and King feared he would offend the Emperor should he postponed the meeting, so he send me instead.”

Would batting her lashes be too much? Did he buy her lie?

“Oh? Nothing too worrisome I hope.” His smile faltered a bit.

Sania leaned closer as if to tell a secret. “The people are a bit unhappy lately but I’m sure my father will arrange everything.” 

She opened her eyes a bit too much, smile a bit too wide and hoped she looked as foolish as she felt.

The moment she arrived in Csitephon, she had been belittled. They acted as if she was a foolish little girl that wanted to play with the big boys. It was only fair she kept the charade going.

His eyebrows disappeared under his hair. He opened his mouth but she cut him, turning her head and catching Naksh’s eyes. “Forgive me General but it seems that someone is waiting for me. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

He curtsied, “The pleasure was all mine, Princess Sania.”

And during her entire walk to join her attendant, she could feel his gaze lingering on her back.

“Princess,” Naksh started, looking behind her, “I would prefer if you refrain yourself from spending time with that person.” Their eyes met, his voice deepened as a warning. “His eyes are cold and hungry.” 

She nodded. She wasn’t going to anyway. 

“I think I have a plan,” Naksh tilted his head, prompting her to continue, “I want to make the Emperor believes it was _his_ decision to call off the deal.”

He rose an eyebrow, looking puzzled. “You want to… manipulate the Emperor?”

Sania shushed him, wincing inwardly. “I wouldn’t have said it like that, it makes me look... bad. But basically, yes.” 

He rose his second brow. “Do you realize what could happen if they realize what you’re doing?”

She exhaled shakily.

Of course, she knew what was at stake. She felt it in the way her body tensed and in the knots in her throat. She knew she was putting her country at risk and maybe it was unnecessary and maybe she was being stubborn too but she felt that being affiliated with Parthevia now would only cause trouble. 

She had no idea what her father thought when he agreed to these negotiations but she wouldn’t have taken all these risks.

Balbadd was already on friendly terms with Reims and they had trade contracts. They could perceive it as a betrayal and that would be worse. 

“Of course.”

She won’t fail.

* * *

She failed.

Or so, she thought she failed but it turned out she convinced the Emperor. It was neither because of her stellar speech - which hasn't been that _stellar_ \- and nor her argumentations, she just had to make a fool of herself.

The negotiations started the day after and ended well into the evening. She felt dizzy once she got out of the room, her throat was sore and parched after talking for so long, arguing her point as badly as she could and refraining herself from kicking some of them.

Her plan had worked in the end as she convinced most of the council members that it wouldn’t benefit the country. Only the General Barbarossa had disagreed and it all came down to a battle of wits, which she won. She had no idea how, though. His arguments were pretty accurate and most of the time he countered her but Parthevia's council members must not have been over the moon with that deal, to begin with. 

And now, she may be known as the foolish crown princess of Balbadd forever but her country was safe. No visible repercussion to come.

She could finally go back home.

* * *

Partevia was a beautiful country as long as you ignored the war and the despair striking deep the face of its citizens.

Sania was glad to leave it.


	3. I should’ve stayed in bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sania makes bad decisions and must face the consequences.

_Chapter 3: I should've stayed in bed_

* * *

_A year later, in Oenotria._

* * *

“Princess Sania, wait!”

She jumped through the window, catching a tree branch conveniently placed on her way down, landing on her feet the next instant. She ran away.

She had been set to fail the very minute she stepped on this island. 

Oenotria was a small island known for its peculiar geographical position and its mines. The island was a volcanic island and created pits of marine rhyolite, a beautifully glassy and iridescent rock that everyone wanted.

She once had been gifted with a set of hairpins made from marine rhyolite. Craved with swirls and stars, it was something really precious and expensive that she holds dear. The fact that Naksh had been the one gifting her this only increased their values. But she never put them on, too scared to break them. 

Standing tall at the meeting point of three different seas, Oenotria had its own microclimate, a spring island where the sun always shined. Its marine environment was the richest, fishes of all the three seas came here to mate, exotic trees sprouted on the beach. But because of the meeting of the three seas, the weather was unstable, always changing and hard to navigate.

Considering the dangers, the fact that Sania managed to convince her father to send her here was mind-boggling.

So, an exotic island almost unreachable.

The thing with this kind of island was that as people couldn’t reach the island, they started speculating. The romantics always pictured it as an island full of wonders, colorful flowers, interminable towers, and unorthodox minds. A paradise for forbidden love, eloping couple and bastard children. Freedom was the key in their story.

The reality was much more disappointing.

Oenotria was a water city organized in concentric rings. At the bottom, the streets were flooded, giving the impression of living with the tide. The top was where the higher up lived, and coincidentally where she was going. And the more she went through, the more she found herself discontented. 

Everything was disproportionate. Houses were tall, trees were large and the markets, noisy and endless. Women wearing strange masks rose their skirt up when someone looked their way. Men lurked in the dark alley, a glint of metal in their hands. Slaves used as means of travel. Children covered in soot and trembling in the wind. 

Oenotria favored the powerful and ate the weak, throwing them in the pits to dig out more stones and die. It also favored men over women and as a woman, the people only saw a mare, a bride to marry, someone unworthy of power.

The flutter of clothes, the splash of water and the creaking of a door were the sounds that followed her. She gritted her teeth. She wasn’t fond of being prey. 

Zigzagging through the crowd, she hoped to lose them. Her feet slapped against the cobblestones, always striding forward and never turning back. She faltered a bit when a cart crossed right in front of her before starting again her wild escape. The harbor was her destination; that was where she was the most at home, among the ship, the sail and the sea.

A hand appeared in the corner of her eyes. 

_Shit, no._

She tripped on her skirt, ripping it in the process and was sent tumbling into a strong back, avoiding the hand by sheer dumb luck and well-placed clumsiness. She jumped on her feet, barely sending a glance at the blue-haired man she ran into - what was his back made of? Steel? - before bolting away. 

Her escape was short-lived. Barely ten feet away, a platoon of guard cut her path. 

How did they get here that fast? 

She hurried to stop herself, to not throw herself on them in her haste and in her usual stroke of luck, she slipped on dirt. She fell backward just as multiple hands lunged at her, barely missing her. She ended on her back, rolling out of their way before they could even think of catching her again.

She backed away. 

_What to do? What to do?_

She turned around but already guards were filling the street. She turned widely around, trying to-

“You are surrounded, there is no escape.” Some guard said. “Please come with us quietly, no harm will be done to you.”

_Maybe not you but your king surely will._

They expected her to surrender quietly after mocking her and her people. And then they were expecting her to- 

The blood pumping through her veins burned her with the fury of thousands of demons. This country was only dirt and expensive items. How could it understand anything about Balbadd and its customs? If the King couldn’t see the beauty in his own country, how could he see Balbadd’s inner beauty? 

And he wanted to take her as his bride? If he couldn’t love Oenotria, how could even he like her? Balbadd and her were one and the same. Ignoring that was simply overlooking who she was.

_How dare he? How dare he!_

Turning on her heels, she looked for an escape. 

She was trapped, utterly surrounded. Some citizens were crying out, others were scrabbling away from her until she was all alone, in a sea of guards.

_What to do? What to do?_

She was caged like a wild panther - with barely sharp enough claws -, on the verge of growling and hissing in a show of displeasure. She gritted her teeth, sending them an irritated look. 

It was bad, she was clearly at disadvantage here. Her only solace was her title, her father wouldn’t stand for her being mistreated. But it would bring war on Balbadd doorstep and… They really didn’t need that. 

Sania closed her eyes, thought spiraling out of control under the pressure. _Think, goddammit, think! Your mind is your greatest ally, master Anma says that. So THINK!_

The wind blew, wild and strong. ‘ _Wait.’_

Wha-? Wait? That was what it was asking her to do? Wait for what? For her to be caught? 

“No. I won’t.” Her eyes snapped open and, in a display of foolish bravado, she rose her voice. “I won’t go back to this… This pig. He insults _me_ , _my people_ and then he expects _me_ to marry him?! I won’t. I refuse to marry a man who can only win the respect of his people through fear.” 

Around her people were gasping and gaping. 

“If I have to choose between him or death, I choose death.” 

A guard glared at her and then proceed to draw his sword out with a chilling _shliiing_. “Very well. On guard little girl!” He called and raced forward.

Sania’s eyelids opened widely. _So quick._

“Wait, Iruma-”

She sidestepped, barely getting out of the way. _Are we really going to do that? Shit_. She really should have thought more before running her mouth. And she didn’t even have a sword!

Sania kept her step light, sliding across the ground before falling into stance.

_Forget the unnecessary. You’re here, in the present!_

_One hand behind the back, the other raised right under the breast, straight back and knees slightly bent, feet separated and light. Don’t put weight on your heels and don’t lock your joints._

_I may never be the best at fighting but...This is the King’s stance!_

She barely moved once he charged again, lowering her gravity center and meeting his sharp and dangerous eyes. For one terrible second, she felt fear, stance faltering, and his eyes glinted with glee, like a predator. 

It was terrifying, to be seen as prey. But she wasn’t, not today and not ever.

_Find an opening and strike-_

Sania’s eyes bulged from her head. 

A sword caught Iruma’s scimitar. Her eyes followed the hand, to an elbow, to a shoulder, to reveal a man- _No_ , a purple-haired teen. 

“Going after an unarmed lady? That’s not gentlemanly.” 

Beyond his voice and his hair, it was his _sound_ that made her realized who he was. It was that same sultry voice that cooed at her, wrapping her into that warm airy cocoon, followed by joyful chirps.

 _Him?_

That child that save- No, _helped_ her in that alley in Parthevia. What was he doing here? How could he be here? Wasn’t he a simple parthevian child? Parthevia was still at war and with their politics -as sad as it was-, they couldn’t afford to lose a child. Especially since he seemed to hold his own against multiple enemies. But then, she only saw him fight against wimps. 

But more importantly, what was he doing now? 

“Step aside, child. It’s none of your business.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I’m a gentleman, I can’t turn my eyes away from a lady in need.”

What the hell was he talking about? A lady in need? And what was up with him? Playing the hero once again. He will get kill! 

Sania gripped his arm, catching his eye and frowning at him. She heard she had a pretty intimidating face. “What the hell are you doing? Stand back while you can, this isn’t your fight!” 

The purple tilted his head toward her, grinning like an idiot. 

“It's been a while, little cutie.”

“Wha- You remember me? It’s been months!” 

_Cu-cutie?_

He caught her hand in his own, a charming smile on his lips. “Of course, I could never forget a face as pretty as yours.”

Magnetic golden eyes almost pulled her in but she was in a too tight of a spot to really be more than utterly flabbergasted. 

Did he? Is he? Should she- _Did he really flirt with me?_

Iruma scoffed. “Taking your eyes off your enemy, that alone proves your incompetence. And what will you do with that small toothpick?” While it was true his sword was shorter, it was no toothpick either. “Playing the hero will get you killed.” 

He ran at them, sword raised but the teen intercepted him. They engaged in a dance, swords clashing and pushing against each other. It was beautiful in a deadly way but as much as she wanted it to be false, that boy was clearly behind. 

His timing was good and that was his only advantage. He lacked strength and theory, the basics of the art of combat. His hold on the sword was barely acceptable at most. On the other hand, Iruma was far more experienced and his form was flawless. Even a novice like she could see that.

And yet, by some miracle, the boy still kept up. 

“Incredible,” Sania whispered. It wasn’t common. It wasn’t common at all for a child to be on par with a soldier.

The blades clashed again. Iruma pressed until the boy bent a knee. Sania blinked. The next instant they were both jumping back.

There was a pause, Iruma brought a hand to his cheek before watching his blood-stained fingers strangely. Something had happened while she blinked and it ended with the blood of the man being drawn first.

“Is he on the same level as Iruma? How can it be?” Someone mumbled but with them so silent, it almost felt like he screamed what everyone thought. 

“On the same level?” Of course, the boy had to take the bait and answered. “I don’t think so. While your swordsmanship is far above mine, I’m afraid I’m still stronger.” 

He affirmed that with such certainty it made her blood boil. _The sheer arrogance..._

“What?” Iruma scoffed, looking particularly angry. “You’re just a child who had luck on his side. It won’t happen again.”

From her point of view, Sania could only see his shoulders shaking. Was he laughing?

“I think we let the show drag long enough. Let me show you the difference in our powers.”

The sky split apart with a blinding flash, lightning grooving it in a serpentine dance, vanishing in a blink of an eye with a furious roar. The clouds, an endless sea of white, turned black. Her forearm hairs rose as the space around them filled itself with energy so thick she could taste it. His inner voice twisted, going deeper and changing its tone before it grew louder and louder until she could only hear buzzing. 

The lightning fell down. The purple idiot rose his sword, - _don’t! The lightning!_ \- playing the lightning road. _This dumb-_ Gusts of wind threw dirt in her eyes. - _Idiot killed himself._

“Bararaq.” 

Something indescribable happened, the lightning hit the guards. The purple idiot was fine and so was she.

Sania fell on her hum. “How…?” 

Something like that should not have been possible. He should have ended fried up by that lightning. Why…?

He turned toward her, presenting her with a hand. She looked at it dumbly, still processing what happened before raising her eyes to his face. 

_Just… Just,_ “Who the hell are you?” Slipped from her lips. He grinned. 

Around them, citizens shouted and ran away. 

“Is that the power of a Donjon Conqueror?” Someone whispered. Or shouted. She couldn’t tell the difference. 

_Donjon… Conqueror?_

Her father told her about an interesting boy and a donjon conqueror. That boy was skilled and strong and she shouldn’t underestimate one of them. But to win against the guards like that… It was far beyond anything her mind could conjure. Sania could barely believe it. No, she couldn’t believe it. He just blew the guards away.

“I’m Sinbad the sailor. I would be immensely flattered if a cutie like you has ever heard of me.”

Sania breathes hitched because she had heard of him.

* * *

“Father?” Sania finally asked after gathering her wits. 

She watched him carefully from her position on the windowsill. 

She had been admiring the garden from the window of his study room, waiting for him to finish. It was something she did when she needed to be away from everything else as no one would dare to disturb her father. In a way, he was her solace in a world full of expectations.

A sweet breeze brushed her hair away, replacing the scent of ink, dust and old parchment with the fresh smell of flowers. The room was usually only filled with the scratch of the quill on paper but this time, he was _humming_ . And it wasn’t any song, it was that rowdy one that you could hear in some bars at night. The one you sang when you were drunk beyond your mind and _happy_.

She was… puzzled by this sudden development.

His cowlick bobbed as his eyes barely rose above the pill of paper he was working on. He inclined his head, waiting for her request. 

“Did something happened during your travel…? You seem particularly... happy.”

Rashid blinked before he raised warm pink eyes to meet hers. “You’ve always been so perceptive.” He praised her, eliciting a happy blush, before patting the seat next to him.

Sania stumbled to her feet, almost tripping on her dress before she reached her seat. He chuckled at her antics.

“I took a student in.” He started and Sania could barely keep her bewilderment in check. “His name is Sinbad and he’s a sailor but he’s also- ”.

* * *

"He is a dungeon conqueror."

* * *

It was _him?_ This was the student talked so fondly of? The one he made sure to keep tabs of, his _friend_? A mere child.

Her mouth shut with a click when she realized she had been ogling for who knows how long. If nothing else, he was even prouder at her staring, puffing his chest out like a peacock. 

It was worse. The situation was far worse than she thought it could be. Her father’s favorite, his _student_ , was here. She couldn’t just ditch him now, especially when he put himself -and in a way, her father’s reputation- at risk. They needed to get out of here, and fast. Otherwise the guards…

...Wait! 

**_The guards!_ **

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” She swallowed her fear, holding his shoulders.

He blinked. “Well, I saved your-”

“Sin!” A white hair boy and a giant arrived. “I will throttle you, I swear! You can’t start a fight in the middle of the street. We’re in another country!”

_Why...?_

The smallest was fuming, bared teeth, hands clenching and… Was it blades in his hands? The giant simply looked resigned. 

_Why would you do that?_

“Later!” Sania cut, her arms started to shake. The adrenaline was getting to her. “You need to go. The king doesn’t tolerate anyone resisting him! You just made yourself the enemy of this country!” 

It was almost funny to see them blanched, eyes widening and gaping. Sinbad started to heavily sweat under the glare of the white-haired boy and Sania would have snorted in any other situation.

Gathering her skirt in one hand, she gripped Sinbad’s wrist, forcefully pulling him along as she ran for the harbor. “Less talking, more running.”

“Where are we going?” Someone asked.

“The harbor,” she breathed out, “You need to leave before they catch you.”

Sinbad tucked on her hand, sending her tumbling against his chest while avoiding the sudden cart. He caught her in his arms, warm golden eyes boring in silvers. “Why leave? I’ll talk to the king and clarify the situation.”

 _I will turn the situation over, I can do it._ His sultry voice whispered, a languid stroke against her eardrums.

 _It could work,_ provided her mind. 

She immediately squashed that thought.

 _No! **I** will take care of it. You leave. _Her voice chided.

His sound faltered, almost startled by the answer.

“You really are naive.” He gaped. “You don't know anything about nobility and royalty and yet, you want to speak to the king? No." He certainly wasn't expecting that. "You attacked his men, what do you expect will happen?” She took a step back, moving out of his arms. “You’ll be executed.” 

He eyed her strangely, with interest, like he was seeing her in a new light and he seemed to reconsider his arguments.

She turned her back on him, catching the dubious look the white boy sent her. “Let’s go.”

They turned around many corners, dodged people and even jumped over a boat, in order to escape the guards. At that point, right before they reached the second ring, she was the one dragging behind, watching their backs running further away until- a hand caught her wrist. 

Sania cocked a brow. “Would be a shame to lose such a cutie.” 

A collective groan.

Maybe Sania turned red at that but her cheeks were already burning from all the running and she wasn't going to tell him that.

_Must you be so shameless?_

Another turn and then, harbor bed’s smell hit her nostril full force, wind picking up its pace and the backlash of the water singing its song. 

Finally, they reached the harbor. Quickly locating their boat, they stopped right before it.

“That was fun.” The purple hair dumbass laughed. Sania hissed at him, panting.

“Fun? Fun. What the hell is wrong with you?” but it sounded more like “Fun...? Fun. What the… hell… is wrong with… you?”

His other friends glared at him but quickly occupied themselves by jumping on board and readying the ship. Sinbad and she were the only ones still on the ground. Swift as a cat, Sinbad walked up the plank. 

Nevermind… she was the only one remaining. 

Her eyes were glued on the plank, biting her lips bloody. Could she? Should she? 

It would be so easy. Just walking up this plank, running away from her problem and for once, thinking for herself, about herself, and by herself. 

She was tempted, _so_ very tempted. 

Her eyes traveled the length of the wood up to the boy, watching her with a tilted head. The strange look was back and Sania couldn't tell if she was uncomfortable or not under it. “Little cutie? You’re coming?” 

Sinbad’s eyes, rings of gold, flashed to hers with a curiosity that was only due to his age. The sun hit his figure just right, illuminating his face in an alluring way and his hair glistened in the sun like a purple halo. He was alluring. 

Alluring and-

 _Free,_ sang his inner voice. _Be free with me._

And she could never be free. 

“No.” 

The dry answer caught Sinbad off guard, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “Wha-. Why? I thought you couldn’t stay here? Weren’t you chased by guards too?”

A smirk that held neither warmth nor happiness twisted her lips. “There are people here, people that rely on me, need me. I can’t leave them behind.”

He frowned, “Doesn’t change the fact that you displeased the king too. Come with me, cutie, _join_ me. We will find a way to reach them, _together_.”

“No. The difference lies in our blood. I’m… a noblewoman. And you are not. He can’t execute me like that.” _Hopefully._ “That would start a _war_.” 

“Sin! We’re ready to leave.” The white-haired boy said, tying the sails to the mast. “By your command.”

He turned, nodding to his companion before he opened his mouth again, probably to argue but she pushed the plank with her foot, sending it into the water. Sinbad barely caught it. 

“Leave. Your business here is finished.”

Turning around, she started walking off, her heart beating loudly while her guts were crushed with a feeling of doom.

“Can I have your name at least or should I keep calling you little cutie?” 

Cheeky brat. 

She laughed, silent and airy before looking over her shoulder, watching the ship slowly sailing away. 

“Sania,” she answered. “Farewell, Sinbad.”

He cheekily grinned, hands on his hips. “See you next time, Sania.” 

* * *

“I’m deeply sorry.” Sania bowed down, her skirt, an aureole of silk around her, going as far as putting her forehead against the cold marble of the throne hall. “My actions were inappropriate.”

She raised her head, eyes flickering to the marble stairs leading up, to the throne of rhyolite and gold, to the feet of a thickly robed man, to his crown high on his head.

The court bristled, noblemen growling their outrages, demanding retribution. 

“How impudent,” the voice dripped with venom, grating her ears with acid. “She dares look our king. Have you no shame?”

“The audacity!”

“How rude… And this little girl is a princess?” 

She paid them no mind, focusing on the man on top of the stairs. His face remained neutral, unchanging, giving her no clue about what was on his mind. 

His eyes flashed to hers, black and burning with concealed anger. Sania swallowed, breathe hitching. He was dangerous, like wildfire or a storm in the desert. 

But the king wasn’t like wildfire- he _was_ wildfire. Deadly and unpredictable. And she had angered that. 

Howling wind and thunderous fire crackled in her ears. 

"You sullied my name in front of me and my people. You help the people who injured my guards.” At last, the king answered. A pause. “My forgiveness is neither cheap nor free.”

A split-second mistake sat on her shoulders with all the weight of a century of bad decisions. She couldn’t keep her back straight, she slouched in front of all. 

“Please, it was my mistake, not my country. Let me fix it.” Her heart was beating strongly in her chest, like a scared bird trying to escape its cage.

Something seemed to have caught his attention, as he straightened on his sit. The king looked faintly surprised- no, not surprised. Sania frowned and realization crashed down on her. He was _amused_.

“I only respect and forgive the warrior.” He said, smile bloodthirsty and head between his finger. Sania swallowed, eyes frightfully round. “You don't want your country to suffer from retribution? Prove yourself to me; conquer the dungeon hidden in my forest and I won't seek vengeance." 

Her heart stopped.

* * *

_Conquer… a dungeon?_

* * *

“My King, I’m afraid I…” Her voice died in her throat. His eyes were gleaming with sadistic glee, waiting for her to finish her sentence. If she were to refuse, the burden would fall on Balbadd and… she couldn’t do that.

The blood left her cheeks.

He played her. She was trapped between two stormy seas, both dangerous and impossible to take. She thought she loved her country more than her own life but now that she was presented with the choice… 

The noisy background that was his court came back full force. She could hear them, laughing at her expense, mocking her and praising their king for his creativeness. All in front of her.

The king stopped the noise with a hand.

 _Remember your speech, remember your vows. For your country. For the people that live in Balbadd. Be strong._

Clenching her trembling fist, she exhaled. “If I agree to this, no matter what the outcome may be, Balbadd won’t be held responsible, right?” 

He nodded.

“And my guards… Will they be released?”

He flicked a wrist dismissively at her. “If you want.”

“Then… Then. I will do it.” It felt like she was signing her own death warrant.

Murmurs began to echo around her and king Kyrell smirked. “Very well. Tomorrow, you will be brought to it.”

Her mind unreeled under all of it, and she was left in a daze as the room emptied, wondering if she really just sold her life for her country.

* * *

It was dark and she hadn’t been given a light to keep the shadows at bay. The room was big, as it was expected from a castle, and heavily furnished. A cell for higher-ups.

Looking at the window, Sania tried to open it, hoping to bring some fresh air in. She felt a bit out of breath inside the room. It was too cramped, too dark, overbearing. The walls seemed to close around her, ready to fall on her and burying her under them to never see the light again.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The voice of a man broke through the silence. 

She turned around briskly, anxiously scanning the shadows to find the owner of the voice. Her heart beat loudly in her chest. 

“Who are you?” Her hand closed around the cool metal of a firebrand as she backed toward the fireplace. “Show yourself!”

Her voice was shaking, wobbly, high and breathless as her breathing shortened. She was tensed, ready to spring to the door. Her day kept getting worse and worse. She had acted carelessly today, her actions were all but an impulse, mistakes, and one she wasn’t going to repeat. And now, she was stuck in a room with an unknown man, tired, hungry and scared for the next morning.

All she aspired to do was rolling in a ball on the ground and crying until she tired herself out. 

A movement in the corner caught her attention. A massive, beast form that slowly changed into a man’s figure came closer. “My name is Nathair, of Tzarfat.” He finally stepped into the moonlight and bowed. 

_It’s not a beast,_ noted Sania with relief. 

His body was strong and large, wide shoulders, long legs, thick tights and large hands. His face bore the signs of aging: a light stubble covered his chin, neck, and cheeks and a scar crossed his nose up to his forehead. He couldn’t be older than thirty. 

He was far from being beautiful but mattered the most was his inner voice. It was the sound of his soul, your true self, and no one could deceive her. She tilted her head, listening to something only she could hear. 

A crackling fire. Cries of help. Agony. A song of fire and death. And in the middle of it, a mournful voice, one that longed for the slaughter to end. 

A warrior tired of the war.

“Do I have your approval?” He finally asked, shifting. 

“Do you want it?” Sania cocked a brow, her grip on the firebrand merely relaxed. “Or are you simply trying to distract me?”

The corner of his mouth wobbled. “You’re sharp, Princess. I like that.” 

With a movement of his hand, he invited her to sit down next to him, something she did while keeping a fair distance between them, her fingers dancing over the carved swirls of the firebrand laid across her lap.

“So tell me, little princess, is it true?” Sania looked at him, tilting her head. He clarified. “Is it true that you insulted King Kyrell of being a chauvinist pig?”

Her face fell, blood leaving her cheeks. “You heard about that?”

“How could I not?” He laughed, showing pearly teeth. “People talked and the servants more than anyone else. I’m pretty sure everyone is talking about that.”

Sania muffled a groan in her hand. If everyone is talking about it, it will be harder to sweep the issue under the rug. And if her father hears about that- No. If Tassos ever hears about that, he will make her life a living hell. 

And Naksh… 

He must be _seething_. And worrying. And cursing her name. Knowing that she was causing such pain to her friend tore her heart apart. She longed to see him again, to find her solace, protection in his arms like she did when she was little.

In this cold, lonely world, he was her brightest light; always by her side, supporting her, guiding her, _protecting_ her. And she never thanked him for it.

It would probably be her biggest regret. 

The man shifted, clothes creasing.

“And you, mister, why are you here?”

He sighed, his dark hair bouncing as he shook his head. “They took something from me, I came to take it back.”

He sounded sad and tired but the determination burning in his ashy gray eyes lighted his face. He squared his jaw, glaring at nothing in particular. 

She tensed under the heavy atmosphere, hand curling around the firebrand as her heart started to race. His voice grew louder, from mournful, it became sharp, terse. Ready to fight. 

Her guts knotted, but she did her best to ignore it. 

“That something, is it a someone?” She dared ask, awaiting his answer with dread. For some reason, he felt unstable, ready to snap at any given moment.

He nodded stiffly.

“Maybe…” She licked her lips, throat uncomfortably dry. “Maybe they didn’t take that person away. Maybe they came on their own accord.”

He turned his head toward her, piercing her with cold eyes that weigh her down. She fought a rising fear that bubbled in her guts and popped in her throat. He leaned forward until she could clearly see his eyes darkening, and Sania could only watch with fear that threatened to shift into panic his hand rising, coming closer and closer to her face. A smell of smoke and spices assault her nose.

She was frozen. Powerless. 

**_Again._ **

“What-” Quick as a snake, he grabbed a strand of hair and collected a dust bunny on it. “...” Her voice died in her throat. 

“I will try to keep that in mind.”

And after that, they talked during a good half of the night about thousand of things, about Djinns and strange powers, about economy and kingdom, until Sania yawned, her eyes closing themselves. 

“You know, I won’t die tomorrow.” Nathair blinked at her, watching her shuffled around until she found the right spot. 

“How can you tell?”

_I can’t actually, I’m just trying to ease myself with little white lies._

“Because I can’t.” _There is too much that I need to see, to learn, to discover. I can’t die now._

Sania sighed.

“Nathair?”

He hummed, “What is it?”

“I’m going to sleep. If you try anything, I will hit you with the firebrand.”

Nathair snorted. “You are amusing, Princess. Goodnight.”

Sania could have sworn that she just closed her eyes when two guards came for her, shaking her awake. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon. 

“I won’t die.” She whispered to herself as she crossed the threshold of the door.

Strangely enough, Nathair believed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, chapter 3!  
> This is Sinbad's second meeting, he is a chivalrous little shit. A lot happens in this chapter, Sania is sentenced to the dungeon (which is sentenced to death only there is a small chance she survives. It's just to give false hope and Sania knows it), she meets a strange man in the cell. <\-- It's indeed a cell, but she is a royal so they won't throw her in an actual, real cell.  
> So what do you think about this story? About Naksh and Sania? Sinbad? (<\-- Low key afraid of making him ooc). 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for the reviews and the kudos!

**Author's Note:**

> You are welcome to leave a comment or a kudo.
> 
> Ad Astra Per Aspera:  
> To the stars through difficulties.


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